Two Drunk Mice And A Cat
by SaraBarns
Summary: I was so drunk. I never should have taken the drink... but I did. Can't change the past, I suppose. God, Prussia must hate me. I hate me. But I hate HIM more. We should have kicked him out as soon as he arrived. I knew there was something up. It's too late now. But what else is there to do? It's done with. Can I handle it though? No... there's no point in lying. I am not okay.


**Disclaimer:** Hetalia's not mine. Never has been, never will be. Although the random bartender is mine I guess. Uh... so enjoy? Or not. You know. Whatever.

**Warnings:** (Damn, I hate warnings cause the ruin the plot, but whatever, people need them sometimes...) Inferred date rape. (That covers everything, so...) Implied threesome. Yaoi. (As if that wasn't obvious...) And human names used. (If you don't know their human names by now, gtfo.) Because calling them countries gets really annoying after so long.

* * *

I should have stayed home.

"Birdie, I'm so sorry. Come on, please let me in!"

"_Non_."

I should have stayed at home with Gil to watch the game.

"I didn't even kick the shit out of him like I should have!"

"It doesn't matter. I... I want to be alone."

I should have stayed at home with Gil to watch the game, because I knew I would have too much to drink.

"Goddamn it all... What can I do to make this better?!"

"Go."

I should have stayed at home with Gil to watch the game, because I knew I would have too much to drink. The game was too high-stakes.

"I was drunk! You were drunk! Fuck, maybe he was drunk too! There was nothing I could..."

"I know."

I should have stayed at home with Gil to watch the game, because I knew I would have too much to drink. The game was too high-stakes. I knew I'd drink to ride it out.

And now look at what's happened.

"Birdie..."

"Please just leave me alone..."

XOXOXOXO

"Ahh, _Mathieu_, come to see the big game?" the bartender's familiar, rough voice greeted me as I entered my favorite sports bar, and the bell above the door alerted the man to my arrival.

"_Oui_," I admitted, cheeks flushed from the cold, a red hat with a white maple leaf stitched on it atop my head and a white scarf wrapped snugly around my neck, and Gilbert's hand locked tight in mine as I pulled him inside. "Are we late?"

Men nursing glasses of alcohol lounged around the bar and the tables scattered throughout the establishment, many of whose eyes were glued to the TV screens, but some of whom waved to me as they saw me, identifying me as one of the regulars. I waved back in response, smiling when I saw that more of them were wearing team gear for the team that I was supporting than the other one.

Hockey was such a wonderful sport; it brought together all sorts of people. For example, at a back table in the corner, there was a divorced couple that would always come to support the same team that I did, that set their differences aside for the game. (We were all waiting for them to suck it up and remarry.) And across from them a few tables was always the same pair of friends, one Canadian and one American, who reminded me of myself and Al, but the other way around. They always fought, but when it came to hockey, they became brothers at arms once more. Every scruffy and clean-shaven man in here felt a sense of camaraderie when the home team scored, every single time. It was my sport; Canada's sport; our sport.

"_Non_, just in time," he said, gesturing to one of the many televisions set in the wall around the place, where indeed, the match was just starting.

I beamed, pulling the hat from my head and shaking my hair out as I towed Gil over to our usual booth, the one with the best view of the best television in the place. The only better position to see the screen from would be at the bar, but I always liked to start watching the game with Gil, and move closer to it later on, once the alcohol had been flowing for a bit.

"Is this game really that big?" Gil asked conversationally, as he unwound the scarf from my neck, and I returned the favor, pulling his black scarf up and over his head.

"Oh, it's huge," I grinned, tugging my gloves off one finger at a time, and waving at a familiar waitress as she passed our table. "Biggest match of the season, for sure."

"Awesome," Gil smiled.

"_Oui_, awesome," I agreed.

"Ah, how cozy," a distinctly French, and distinctly familiar voice suddenly hummed from the entrance, as the bell above the door tinkled once again.

"Francis?" Gil asked incredulously, standing up to see if it was indeed the personification of France who had just walked into a sports bar in Canada, of all places.

Indeed it was, I realized as I peeked around the corner of the booth to see for myself. There was Francis, cheeks rosy from the chill, dressed to the nines in what had to be the epitome of French fashion. Even though he wore only a slate gray trench coat of some sort, with plaid tailored pants, complete with a red fedora, he looked fantastic; as usual, of course. France would be France.

"Pa- Francis, what are you doing here?" I asked cautiously, as the long-haired blond neared us.

"Why, watching a game of soccer with my best friends, of course," he beamed, as though there were nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

I knew better.

"Hockey," I corrected him, frowning.

"Francey-pants, you don't even watch hockey," Gil pointed out.

"_Non_, but there is always time to teach an old dog new sports, right? That is what they say, is it not?" Francis smiled deviously.

"_Non_." I said simply, sliding out of the booth as Francis took a seat beside Gilbert.

"Birdie..." Gil said, moving to stand and follow me to wherever it was that I was going.

"I'm fine. I just want a drink," I waved him off, flashing a forced smile to try to assure him. "Go on. Talk with Francis."

I slid into the bar stool I normally took residence in once I had become sufficiently locked into place (and quite drunk) watching whatever game was being aired at the time of intoxication, and Gilbert's company began to do nothing but distract me from my precious game. Now it was the other way around; Gilbert's attention was absorbed in whatever Francis was saying. It seemed to be something about a problem he was having with Seychelles.

I didn't care.

I trailed a finger in idle circles around a knot in the dark wood that made the bar counter, covered in layers and layers of some kind of laminate or resin.

Now that my spending time with Gil seemed to be out of the picture, all that was left was to get piss drunk and watch my game.

Stupid Francis.

I like my personal time with Gil. Francis wasn't invited, and certainly isn't welcome. This is my human time- no nation business.

"You look pretty down," the bartender acknowledged, sliding a glass of my usual -vodka with maple syrup mixed in (so I'd picked up a habit while dating Russia; sue me)- under my nose. "Is Gilbert flirting with that girly-looking piece of shit?"

I flushed, and instantly glanced over my shoulder to make sure that wasn't what was going on. I wouldn't put it past Francis to initiate something like it. But thankfully, there was nothing going on there. Francis was still complaining, although he had gotten a glass of wine somewhere, and Gilbert had a beer stein in one hand.

"It's just an old friend of his," I said, minding my words carefully. "Though I've had some interesting history with him."

"History as in...?"

"The family sort, not the other kind," I hurried to specify, blushing. "Not that he hasn't tried to ignore the relation and go there anyway."

"Ah." the bartender said simply, as he picked up a dirty glass and began wiping it out with a wet cloth. "Distant cousin of some sort?" I nodded, deciding that would be simpler than trying to tell him that Francis was more of a father to me. He continued talking, though. "In that case, if I were you, I'd get piss drunk and hope he leaves soon."

"My sentiments exactly," I smiled weakly, brandishing the small glass to tap it against the empty one he was cleaning.

"Ah, there's the game," he noted, and I looked up, only taking a second to register his words, before I was drawn into the beginning of the match, and downed half the glass of vodka in one mouthful. The burn didn't even register.

XOXOXOXO

Gilbert was sitting outside my door.

He'd refused to leave.

I was going to let him in before he froze, if he was going to insist on being that stupid, but it would take a few hours before I'd begin getting truly concerned.

I felt too numb to care very much right now anyway.

The situation hadn't quite sunk in yet.

My phone was ringing off the hook, and it wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon. My own ringtone was driving me absolutely up the wall. Kumajilla had already found a pillow to cover his ears with, and was sleeping soundly on the couch. I'd tried the same, but with little success, given up after a few minutes.

I counted four rings, then picked up, only to hang up in the next instant. I didn't want him leaving another message. He'd already half-filled my messaging system anyway.

I didn't want to hear how sorry he was, if he'd hurt me, what he could do to make up for it.

He wasn't, he had, and he couldn't.

My headache returned when the phone started ringing yet again, and I stormed across the kitchen to my medicine cabinet, knocking over several pill bottles in my hungover state in an attempt to find the painkillers. The ones from this morning were already wearing off. My head was throbbing again, and my spine ached something terrible.

I downed three pills dry when I finally managed to find the correct bottle and fumble the cap off, and then leant against the counter, dipped my head back, and rubbed my hand against my aching spinal column through the skin on my back.

I should have stayed home.

XOXOXOXO

It was all one big haze. Hockey and insults and rowdiness and maple-flavored vodka. There was some scotch in there too, I think.

Either way, I know that when the blond man offered me the drink, I was far too drunk already to decline.

And far, far too drunk to realize that this blond man, with his blond hair either slicked or tied back, was the same man who had entered that bar hours earlier, wearing a red fedora and slate gray trench coat, and wasn't really a human man at all.

I remember hearing a drinking contest between Francis and Gil somewhere around the middle of the game, but not much more than that. I didn't sit in the booth with them at all after leaving the first time. They could have been talking about Alfred's ass for all I knew.

What I did know was that sometime just after the end of that match, a strange and unfamiliar taste was in my mouth. And a strangely familiar sensation was forming down south.

Suddenly the bar was gone, the vodka was gone, and my scarf and hat were back on me. It was so dark. Abnormally dark. Was this the parking lot? And Dieu, it was COLD.

"_Mathieu_," a far-off voice whispered smoothly into my ear. "Are you feeling alright? You look quite flushed. Would you like to come back to my place? I think it's closer than your house..."

And then there was Gilbert's voice, laughing raucously, and there he was, my albino, stumbling around the parking lot, as drunk off his ass as I felt.

"F-France... Francis... Let's go back to your place. I can't fucking drive. I can't fucking see! There're pieces of shit flying everywhere. Flying shit! Flying like birds! Birds... Birdie!" He made his way over to where I was, somehow not falling over, and planted a wet kiss on my lips, one that tasted distinctly of German beer. "Let's have sex," he rasped.

"Oh," I gasped, doubling over as an erection I hadn't even known I had began throbbing insistently in my jeans, liking that idea very, very much. "Ohh..."

"Mm, that sounds like a marvelous idea," another familiar voice purred, somewhere above me. "And I'm sure you won't mind if I join you, will you, _Mathieu?_"

A hand palmed at my length through the fabric of my jeans, and I moaned, not knowing if it was my own hand or someone else's, just knowing that it felt fantastic, and I didn't want it to stop. "_N-Non_..." I managed to get out. "Let's..."

"That sounds like an affirmative to me," the voice chuckled darkly.

"_Ja!_ Onwards, my awesome _compadres_... Kesesese... _Compadres_... I sound like Toni..."

XOXOXOXO

"_Mathieu_, I never meant to hurt you," HIS voice started over the messaging machine.

Beep.

"Press delete again if you would like to delete this message," the calm female voice told me.

Beep.

"_Mathieu_, ignoring this won't solve anything! Just let me-"

Beep.

"Press delete again if you would like to delete this-"

Beep.

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't like it. You can't. Because-"

Beep.

"Press delete again if you would like-"

Beep.

"I'm sorry! I was wrong. There, is that what you-"

Beep.

"Press delete again if you-"

Beep.

"_Mathieu_, listen-"

Beep.

"Press-"

Beep.

"Please-"

Beep.

Beep.

"_Je t'ai_-"

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

"No new messages."

Ring, ring.

XOXOXOXO

Lights were extinguished.

Clothes were shed.

The world spun around me.

Gil was laughing like an idiot.

I wanted him to shut up.

I kissed him so he would shut up.

Then I had to breathe.

We both breathed, then someone else kissed me.

The lips were unfamiliar; even though I was drunk, that much I knew. Gil didn't care about his lips; sometimes they were chapped, other times they were naturally nice. These lips were neither. They were smooth, but too smooth. Like a woman's lips. But women didn't have stubble. And neither did Gil.

The kiss got very passionate very quickly. A tongue was forced inside my mouth, not roughly, like Gil tended to do it, but smooth... no, it felt slithery, like a snake. It disturbed me. I tried to pull away, but either the alcohol or something else in my system prevented me from doing so. I was too weak to protest.

And whereas with Gil that would have turned me on... this was beginning to scare me.

Whatever was running through my system was different from what I was used to. It wasn't alcohol, and it wasn't a regular aphrodisiac. I felt like rubber. Rubber with barely-functioning muscles.

I couldn't form coherent words as Gil loomed over me, pale skin practically glowing in the dark, his clothes already lost somewhere in the black hole that was wherever we were. I was practically crying in relief; I'd forgotten he was even here, for a moment.

But when his lips connected with mine once again, I could have groaned in despair, because the taste of German alcohol permeated my mouth and reminded me just how drunk he was. And just how drunk I was.

And just how much I... I didn't care. Because there was that hand at my pants again, and oh, how wonderful it was.

"Ohonhon, you like that, don't you, _Mathieu_?" Francis' voice breathed just beside my right ear.

"_O-Oui_," I gasped, unable to stop myself. There was something decidedly wrong with this entire situation, but I couldn't place my finger on it. And Francis was placing his fingers somewhere else at the moment that had my full attention captive.

His lips locked themselves in place on my neck, and he bit down, hard, at the juncture between my neck and shoulder, before smoothing it over with his tongue. I cried out at the initial pain, but couldn't even move to push his face away from my skin.

And then he was tumbling off of me, rolling onto the bed and being pinned beneath Gilbert. I could only see that because my current field of vision happened to include the right side of the bed, and my peripheral vision was excellent. Gilbert kissed him furiously as he tore the blond's pants from his legs, depositing them elsewhere, not caring where they ended up.

"I top, Francey-pants," Gil growled, squeezing the Frenchman's hips tightly, as though to prove a point. "No arguments."

"Fine," Francis sighed, wincing as Gilbert began preparing him, sans-lubrication. "As long as I can top _Mathieu_..." he trailed off, staring lustfully at me from the other end of the bed, and then grinned lecherously.

XOXOXOXO

"I was drunk! You were drunk! What was I supposed to do?!" Gil cried from outside my front door, and I could hear him actually growl in frustration. "Do you really think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted him to do that to you? No! I would never! You know I would never!"

"Well last night shouldn't have happened, then," I quipped, grimacing as the phone began ringing once again.

"But it did, _ja?_ I can't change that. And I'm so, so sorry that I can't." Gil sighed. "What I wouldn't give just to have forced the bastard out of the bar as soon as he walked in."

The phone's shrill rings echoed through the otherwise silent house, and I pressed my fingers to my temples in a vain attempt to stop the painful vibrations they were sending through my skull.

"Gil, tell him to stop calling me," I shouted in frustration, clutching at my head where it throbbed incessantly.

"_Ja_, of course," the albino said quickly.

I waited in silence for the phone to stop ringing, and the instant it did, I could hear Gil's phone's dial tone, and I paused, waiting for the man on the other end to pick up.

"Stop calling Birdie," Gilbert hissed into the phone, as I pressed my back to the front door for support, then slid down it slowly.

Rambling, near-delirious French spilled out of the receiver in waves, and Gilbert began shouting back in German after a few seconds. I picked up the occasional swear word, but other than that I was lost. Gil's voice easily drowned out the other man's, so I was left with half of a conversation, and the half I couldn't understand, of course.

They kept at it, and I buried my face in my knees, crossing my arms atop them and blocking out a fraction of the foreign obscenities leaking through my door. I dug my fingernails into the skin on my wrist, hoping to release some of the tension and frustration that was literally making my fingers shake with emotion.

Gilbert shouted something in German that sounded particularly bad into the phone, and then I heard a plastic-y crash, and glanced uncertainly at the door behind me, as though I could actually see through it to see if what I guessed had just happened had actually just occurred.

"Birdie, I broke my phone..." Gilbert informed me solemnly. "I can keep screaming at him if you give me yours, though!"

A chuckle escaped my lips, breaking the distressed frown I'd been wearing all morning. With a slightly wry smile, I pushed myself off the door and pulled the phone off the receiver. One lock, then the other was undone, and I tugged my front door as wide open as it would go while still hooked into the wall by the chain. I slipped the phone through the crack in the door, my own hand barely fitting through the small space, and waited for Gil to take it.

A cold hand grasped mine, without taking the phone, and I frowned and peered through the crack to see just what the meaning of it was. One ruby-red eye stared through the crevice at me, and I stumbled backwards a step, startled by Gilbert's proximity. He'd pressed his cheek to the door as much as possible to try to see into my house.

We stood there for about half a minute, just gazing into each other's eyes, trying to gauge the other's reaction. "I love you," Gil said simply, before finally taking the phone from my grip, and closing the door again.

"I know," I whispered.

XOXOXOXO

My back was more sore than I think I ever remember it being.

My head was spinning as I propped myself up on my elbows, and tried to gain my bearings.

My thighs were coated in sticky fluid that, while familiar, disturbed me all the more, because Gilbert always helped me clean up after sex.

The clock read 12:23.

And there was warmth on both sides of me.

Both...?

_What?_

And when I realized I had no idea where I was... I really began to panic.

My breath started coming in quick, shallow gasps, which became ragged as tears fell from my eyes.

Where was I?

What happened last night?

Why was I in so much pain?

Where were my clothes?

Who was in bed with me?

I realized the silver-haired man in bed on my right was Gilbert as I saw how pale he looked in what little sunlight filtered into the room through a set of lace curtains covering the room's lone window. A flood of relief swept over the desperation I'd felt only seconds earlier, but soon subsided as I recognized the man on my left.

_Francis_.

There was no one else with wavy blond hair quite like Francis', nor anyone with just the right amount of stubble to appear innately French like Francis did.

And then the previous night's events hit me, and I had to cover my own mouth so I wouldn't wake either of them up with my sobs.

I carefully extracted myself from the tangled sheets, being cautious not to jostle Francis especially, even as tears still flowed freely down my cheeks, and I had to wipe my nose on my wrist to avoid sniffling.

Painfully, I made my way around the room, collected my clothes and donned them. Then I slipped out, taking my car keys with me but intending to call a cab, and planning to leave Gilbert to his own devices.

Francis had violated me while I was drunk...

Probably drugged me to get me there, too...

And Gilbert was so drunk, he had let it happen.

Hell, he'd given it to Francis up the ass while I was taking it; he'd helped.

And I felt used.

Betrayed.

Worthless.

Disposable.

Invisible.

Like a slut.

Easy.

And disgusting.

I don't think a _thousand_ showers would be able to clean me of this kind of uncleanliness.

XOXOXOXO

"Let me talk to Mathieu!"

"He doesn't want to talk to you, Francis!"

"Then I am coming over!"

"I'll sooner beat you to a pulp than let you anywhere near him again. You get the fuck back to France."

"Non! I want to make this right! To apologize! To make sure Mathieu-"

"Will trust you enough so you can get close enough to make it happen again? I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO."

"_Non_, that's not-"

"Let you in his house so you can do it again? HELL NO! I'm at his fucking front door, and there's no way I'm letting you anywhere near him. That's that. If I thought for even a second Birdie would ever forgive me for MURDERING you and dumping the body somewhere, you'd be dead by now, Francis."

"But _ami_-"

"_NEIN!_"

"Gil, let me talk to him," I spoke up, laying a hand flat on the door for support.

"So stay the hell away, Frenchie!"

"GIL!"

"Birdie?"

"_Mathieu?_"

"...give me the phone."

I unlocked the door again, and pulled it open just enough for Gilbert to hand me the phone back, and stuck my hand through the crack, and waited.

After a long moment of complete silence, the phone -now feeling more like a hunk of chilled plastic from its time outdoors- was deposited in my hand. Trembling a little, I turned my wrist to the side to fit the phone through the crack in the door, and then held it up to my face, and just waited. What was I supposed to say? Why had I even asked for the phone?

"_Mathieu?_"

"U-Uh, let me speak, Francis. D-Don't interrupt me," I said, leaning back against the wall beside the door, concerned that if I didn't, I might collapse. "I..."

I paused. No words were forthcoming. What was I doing? Why was I even talking to him? He didn't deserve it. But I'd do it. Now just to think of something to say.

I took the phone away from my cheek, held it close to my chest, and laid my head against the wall.

XOXOXOXO

My phone rang.

It was on the seat in the cab next to me, and vibrating up and down as it blared, displaying a miniature pixelated image of Gilbert and Gilbird.

I didn't pick it up.

I waited a few more seconds for the ringing to stop, then let my hand hover over the device as I waited for whoever was calling it to leave a message.

"Mattie, where are you? What- Did what I think happened last night happen? Are you okay? Birdie, answer the phone or I'll kill Francis in his fucking sleep, so help me God..."

"Don't!" I gasped into the phone, after jabbing my finger into the talk button. I don't even know what caused it, but suddenly I just knew I could never allow Gilbert to do that to Francis.

He was a pervert... and couldn't keep it in his pants... and had essentially date raped me... but he was still my Papa... and I couldn't just hurt him like that, physically or otherwise.

Regardless of what he would do were it me in the same position.

"J-Just..." I trailed off.

"Birdie, are you alright?" Gilbert demanded. "Did he hurt you? Do you even remember? Where are you? Where are your car keys? You didn't drive home, did you? If your back hurts, that could be dangerous-"

"I'm in a cab home now," I sighed. "I... I won't lie, it hurts. But then, when does it not hurt? I suppose I could be better. But it hasn't really kicked in yet. I had to suppress the breakdown so I wouldn't wake him up and get caught on the way out... It'll probably all blow up once I get home."

"I'll fucking kill him..." Gil growled.

"If you're so set on it, why haven't you already?" I asked.

"Excuse me for being a little more concerned about YOU than that bastard!" he snapped. "But now I'll get after his fucking ass!"

"Gil..." I intoned. "Don't."

"And why the fuck not?!"

"...because he's my Papa... I can't..." I muttered.

"Bullshit. He literally raped you. He -what, did he drug your drink and do it? That is NOT OKAY. In fact, it's FUCKED UP. On about A THOUSAND LEVELS."

"Please just come home, Gilbert," I murmured. "But don't hurt him or I won't let you in."

"Oops, too late," Gilbert hissed into the receiver even as a distinctly French stream of curse words became audible in the background, along with a very heavy thud.

I hung up.

Francis was getting what he deserved...

And yet... I still felt bad about it.

XOXOXOXO

"...and I promise it'll never ever happen again, and-"

"Shut up," I interrupted Francis, who, I realize when I'd put the phone to my ear again, had been talking to no one the entire time I'd been thinking. "I... I'm disappointed in you. And very upset. And... not even angry. But you hurt me. Emotionally and physically. If it weren't for the painkillers in my house, I wouldn't be able to move right now. And if it wasn't for Gil, I'd be crying in a corner somewhere. All you did was fuck everything up."

I sounded so harsh, I realized, and tried to reign in my tone a little.

"You... have urges. We all do. You should try a steady relationship instead of drugging your own son, who's already in one, and using him and his drunk boyfriend, your best friend, for a quick fuck." I paused, and contemplated my diction carefully before proceeding. "I didn't want to have sex with you, France. That is something intimate... a-and something that should be between two people who love each other. N-Not one person who's horny, one who's been drugged, and one who's drunk. That's date rape."

"_Mathieu_, I'm so-"

"SHUT UP." I growled. "I wasn't finished. Go back to France. And stay there. And don't come back to Canada. In fact, I'll be telling Harper not to ALLOW you back in Canada. And speaking to your boss about this. When I'm ready to talk to you again I will. But be prepared to wait a very long time, France. I... I'm not okay. And you made me not okay. So now I'm going to try to be okay, and Gil is going to help, and you are going to go away so I can get better."

I pressed the off button, and threw the phone at the wall across from me. I watched it then fall onto the hard wood floor, before shattering into two halves with a few wires connecting them. My back slid down the wall behind me as my knees fell out from beneath me, and I landed on my rear with a grunt of pain. The pain medication either hadn't kicked in yet, or just didn't do very much to help. It figured.

"Mattie?!" Gil exclaimed from outside, and the door slammed further open, but was stopped by the chain, as Gilbert tried to get inside. He took a step back, and in an instant, the chain had snapped, and the door was flung wide open by Gilbert's shoe, and then Gil rushed inside. He crouched at my side. "B-Birdie?"

"I'm..." I hesitated. Was I okay? No... No, I wasn't okay just yet. I waited just a second longer, my lower lip quivering, then burst into tears, and slumped forward into Gilbert's waiting arms.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here, I won't let him anywhere near you again. I won't let anyone near you again, if that's what you want. You're safe now." His arms wrapped more tightly around me, and I clutched at the back of his jacket, willing him to hold me even closer, never let me go. "Everything will be alright, Birdie."

After a while, I was able to take a few deep, steadying breaths, and buried my face in his neck, trying to calm myself with his familiar scent. "I love you so much," I sighed, curling my fingers into tight fists around the fabric of his jacket, and nuzzling his neck.

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing his own nose into my shoulder. "So, so much."

"Um..." I started, as I realized my front door was hanging open, letting the heat out. I was starting to shiver, Gilbert already was shivering, and my phone lay broken across from it inside the house, while Gil's cellphone lay broken just outside of it. "You should probably close the door. A-And we need to pick up those phones."

"Oh!" Gil blinked, looked around himself, and appeared to notice the pair of broken phones for the first time. "Uh... Don't worry, I'll take care of that. It's mostly my mess anyway. But first, can I move you to the couch or something? That doesn't look very comfortable..."

I nodded, agreeing. Landing on your tailbone after events like last night's was never a smart idea.

"Okay, can you grab on? Like you normally do when I bring you down for breakfast?" he asked, turning his back to me and bracing his hands on the floor to steady himself.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and clamped my legs around his waist, and waited for him to rise. I was relieved he had offered to carry me; walking from the kitchen to here had been painful enough. But I wasn't going to push the matter. My back hurt, but I could walk. And I didn't want to be any more of a burden than I already was. He clasped my thighs and rose with a grunt, steadying himself on the door frame for an instant before bringing me back down the hallway and into the living room. He deposited me on the couch, next to a napping Kumadojo, and then went back into the hallway to collect our phones' remains and lock my door.

"Sorry about your door, Birdie," Gil admitted, but I could see the grin that meant he wasn't all that upset himself. "You now have the imprint of my awesome shoe in the center, and I'll need to repair that chain..."

"That's okay," I sighed. "I don't want you leaving just yet anyway. I think Ludwig will understand."

"Well I'm glad we're in agreement then," Gil smiled, sliding onto the couch behind my back, and positioning my body between his legs. "Because I'm not about to leave you alone anytime soon."

* * *

**A/N:** So... yeah, this. I don't... really know where this came from? It's never happened to me, even though most of my other stories have... yeah, no. I got this idea in the shower once. I think it was after my dad was being particularly idiotic while drunk. But eh, I'm not one to turn away a good idea, not one this deep. I feel like it sucks... so whatever. I tried. And I know, I have SO much other stuff I should be finishing, just... I'm working on it, okay? Like, one sentence at a time, but I'm working on it. Life's just a little crazy at the moment. Bleh.

Also, I apologize for the warnings. I'm waspish today. All snappy and junk. The world is upside-down for me right now. So... yeah. Didn't mean to piss anyone off.


End file.
